When I think about my parents divorce, I think of a million things. So many moments and memories stick out to me. I remember sitting on top of the staircase holding onto the banister, and leaning against the chimney because it was warm while I listened to my parents argue. I remember laying in bed listening to my mom crying, hating her for it. I remember waiting until my parents were out of the house so I could scour every laptop, cell phone, and cabinet for emails, text messages, letters, anything I could find with dirt. I remember that after one particularly loud screaming match filled with swears, my dad came into my room to comfort his crying twelve year old daughter.  I remember screaming at my mom in her apartment the first time my parents broke up, I was so so angry at her. I remember finding out that my dad was sleeping in our barn and going out there with a sleeping bag to join him. I remember that after the first time my parents broke up, when they got back together, my dad walked into the kitchen and kissed my mom and it should have felt like things were OK again but it didn't because it just felt strange. I became a secret agent of sorts. I discovered my mother's affair, which broke my parents up the first time, and I discovered my father's emotional affair, which was part of why they broke up the second time. I continued on, acting as though everything were just fine. Sure, I had my tantrums and my problems, but I never revealed the secrets I held, all bottled up. Over the years, I've built up more and more secrets. The lies, backstabbing, and hypocrisy I have discovered would blow your mind. The more secrets I've learned, the farther I've drifted from my mom. I can't trust her, I don't like her, and I don't even respect her. But I do love her. The thing is, if she were a friend, I would have ditched her a long time ago. However, I can't ditch her, she's my mom.

When you learn about how to write a good piece of writing of any sort, you learn about the importance of your conclusion. You are supposed to wrap it up nice and neat. But I can't do that. I can't do that because I don't have a nice, neat ending. Not yet, and probably not ever. But I can tell you that, after six years of building up hatred and confusion and lies and evil truths, I have finally started talking about it. I am speaking up for myself, I'm doing what you are supposed to do: talk to somebody you trust, resolve the issue. I don't know if this issue can ever be fully resolved, I don't even know if I want it to. The things I have discovered have hurt me, but they have also shaped me into a strong, confident, and brave person with a good perspective on life and relationships and a good head on my shoulders. I am writing this hours after confronting my mom and letting it all out. We didn't have a mushy heart to heart, it was more like me shooting her down and telling her to step back and look at what she's done. But it did do a lot for me. I already knew that I had a voice, and I knew that it mattered. I just needed to show her that. I believe now I have. I even believe this will have done something for her. Maybe her subconscious wanted me to find out, to stop her from doing what she was doing.  Maybe she won't have the audacity to lie and gossip anymore. Maybe she will. But I will be able to sleep at night (hopefully, I'm an insomniac) because I will know that I have done the best I could. If you have something you are planning to do, don't wait. There is no time like the present. I waited six years, and it did much more harm than good, believe me. But today I decided enough is enough. Today I decided to take matters into my own hands. Today I decided that I have a voice, and it will be heard by everyone that needs to hear it.